Friday, September 20, 2013

Drew Reviews: The Facades

The Short Version: After his
moderately famous mezzo-soprano wife disappears, Sven Norberg wanders the
streets of Trude in search of her. But the strange Midwestern town, full
of radical librarians and odd cops as well as ordinarily odd people, seems to
foil him at every turn - and over it all looms the strange and jarring
architecture of Trude's most celebrated resident, a man named Bernhard.

The Review:Trude is apparently a city from Italo Calvino's Invisible
Cities (Calvino seems to be the hot inspiration these days) -
although, having not read the book, I have no distinct point of reference to
whether or not Lundgren's view of the city is accurate. Not that it matters, I
suppose - but I just thought I'd get that out of the way.

It's worth getting out of the way, you see,
because I think Mr. Lundgren is following in the footsteps of another
notoriously trickster author: Vladimir Nabokov. Nobody wants to be that
guy saying "on the basis of this debut novel, author Y is the next
X!" - but I found The Facadesto
have such a mostly-successful melding of wordplay, invention, ridiculousness,
and deep examinations of the human condition that I couldn't help but think of
Nabokov. It's a unique combination and while plenty of authors combine
those elements in their own ways, I found Lundgren's writing to have that same
element of deciphering a word-puzzle that you can sometimes (joyously) find in
Nabokov. Of course, that might just be because there are actual word
puzzles to be deciphered (two delightful acrostics, in particular). But
the puzzles, the questions of madness that surround the book, and the layers
upon layers of oddities in the city never overwhelm or confuse - instead, you
get the sense of a terrifically smart hand on the tiller.

I will admit that the book started a bit
slow. It's unclear, at first, what this story is going to be: mystery?
WMFU? Absurd comedy? Something else all together? And the subplot
involving Norberg's son and a vaguely cultish religious order feels oddly
similar to Tom Perrotta's The Leftovers- not in a bad
way, necessarily, and certainly not in a plagiarism way. But the similar
theme applies - it's just that where that book was about what happens universally
when people disappear, this book is about what happens individually when one
person disappears. It was the only moment that didn't feel entirely
organic and new.
Well, the radical librarians feel like kindred spirits to Lemony Snicket
(especially the new YA novels) or Terry Pratchett concoctions - but Lundgren
also gave them a grounding in this reality and a unique spin, so I didn't mind
that so much. I also love the idea of radical librarians, so I was
completely on board.

Opera lovers will find special bonus
tricks and treats here - and the idea of this massive opera house, full to the
brim of baroque ornamentation, in the middle of an otherwise rather dreary and
oppressive Midwestern town... it's a hilarious concept of course but also a fitting
moment on which to latch when trying to comprehend the way Lundgren works.
This idea is innately ridiculous, of course - but these productions
are lavish. A
Baron attends. They are daring, innovative, and a major cultural
touchstone. But outside of the opera house, there is a sense of that
overwhelming claustrophobia that one so often discovers in the Midwest.
That sense of the expanse, of the lack of immediate escapes, if you will.
And that's what makes Molly's disappearance all the more intriguing:
Trude is a place (as the epigraph from Calvino and an ending note from
Vollstrom both imply) that you do not escape from. It is a place that
contains you and you are contained by it and that is the way of things.

Think of Bernhard's massive and odd mall,
perhaps his masterpiece in the end: a spiral inward towards a great labyrinth -
one that is, apparently, unsolvable. You may try to get out but in the
end you are forced to retread the same steps as before. You are confined
to the same place, stuck there. Think, too, of the rest home for the
elderly and insane that Bernhard built and expired in: your memoirs, ranked on
level of harrowingness, will get you in and determine your accommodations.
I don't want to give too much away of the concepts at hand because they
are funny and interesting and worth discovering on your own - but there are
overarching themes to all of these places and things and it makes the book not
only an enjoyable read but a mental exercise as well.

Rating:4.5 out of 5. I can't exactly say why I'm not
giving this a full 5. Perhaps it's the way it was a bit slow to start or
the few moments here or there that felt unnecessary or superfluous.
Although, I almost wonder if this book will grow in my estimation some
years down the line - re-reading it to discover new facets, uncover new tricks
of language, and so on. New light shed upon things I previously thought
to be just... there. Who is to say? Readers should understand (and
be warned) that the slightly wacky sound of the official synopsis is more muted
in the book - but that the true depth is in the distinct imagination of the
author and of his creation here. This is a puzzle to be solved - but you
can't be upset if there turns out to be no solution.

Drew Broussard reads, a lot. When not doing that, he's writing stories or
playing music or acting or producing or coming up with other ways to make
trouble. He also has a day job at The Public Theater in New York City.

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Who's That Girl?

I have been buried beneath small press and self-published review copies since 2009. My passion for supporting the small press and self publishing communities has driven me out into the world wide web to demonstrate alternative ways to spread the word about amazing publishers, authors, and novels you might never had heard of. Feeding your reading addiction, one book at a time.